


Let The World We Dream About Be The One We Live In Now

by TheseusInTheMaze



Series: Dead Gods [2]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Drinking, Feelings, Introspective Talks, M/M, Pining, Vomit, mythology AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 17:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16163927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Shane doesn't believe in magic, or ghosts. Ryan isn't so sure.





	Let The World We Dream About Be The One We Live In Now

Shane didn’t believe in magic.

It was the dumbest thing in the world, honestly - how could he _not_ believe in magic, in and of itself?

Ryan glanced sidelong at his best friend, leaning back in the tree.

It was late enough that the moon was rising - the actual moon, not the one that the Bride of the World brought into the sky during the daytime. 

It was a quiet place, between their parent’s houses - they were both old enough to have left home, and yet. 

It was a quiet night, between the two of them. 

“How do you explain the zucchini marching up and down your mom’s garden, if not magic? It’s not like they’re supposed to grow legs and wander around, naturally.”

“That’s dead gods,” said Shane. “Completely different thing.” 

Ryan gave him a blank look. 

“How is that not magic?!”

“I mean, okay, it’s _magic_ , but it’s not, like… magic-magic.”

Shane sounded faintly defensive.

“Magic-magic.”

Ryan’s voice was flat. 

“It’s… it’s leftover magic,” said Shane. “It’s like nuclear fallout.” 

“What about gods?”

“Gods aren’t magic, gods are gods,” said Shane. “They’re some weird part of… well, something. There’s some sort of natural rule for it, we just don’t know it yet.” 

Shane put his hands behind his head, leaning into his tree, curling his toes in the grass. 

“How is that any different from magic?”

“Magic is… magic. Magic is a thing we don’t know. It’s weird and complicated, and it doesn’t follow rules.”

“It does too follow rules,” Ryan argued.

“No way. Burying a skull can piss off your ancestors, or it can gain their favor, or it can have you turned into a dog. It’s all just magic. It doesn’t make any logical sense. It’s magic.” 

“Where’d you learn all of that?”

Shane had always been a practical sort - Ryan couldn’t see him chasing the complicated bits of old magical lore.

“I read,” Shane said. “I want to know stuff. I want to… make it make sense.”

Ryan didn’t have to ask what “it” was. 

The world had moved on - before their time, but still. 

They’d learned about how it was, and Shane in particular had always missed the old days that he’d never even known. 

“So… what about ghosts?”

Ryan didn’t like how nervous he sounded, or the weird way his eyes kept darting to Shane’s face, Shane’s hands, which were fiddling together. 

His heart was beating very fast in his ears, and he was blushing. 

He shouldn’t have been blushing so hard, either. 

It was fucking Shane, the guy who Ryan saw just about every day, that he’d grown up with. 

“What _about_ ghosts?”

Shane sounded so cool, so calm, so collected.

The jerk.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

That hadn’t been what he’d meant to say, but he hadn’t been sure what he’d meant to say.

“Why would I believe in ghosts?”

“Well,” said Ryan, “we know that there are people who die and stick around -”

“That’s not _them_ , though. That’s… that’s magic residue, like I said.”

“What about the Lady of the Underground?”

‘That’s something else,” said Shane. 

“So what is it?”

“It’s more complicated shit. Magical residue.”

“But you don’t believe in magic.”

“Okay, fine. I don’t believe in _current_ magic.” 

Shane was making a face, and he stretched, his ridiculously long legs catching the moonlight, practically glowing. 

He was very pale, compared to Ryan, even in summer, when he’d been working on his parent’s garden in his cut offs. 

“But past magic is real?”

“I mean, past magic was… something.”

“And now…?”

“And now it is what it is,” Shane said, in a resigned tone of voice. 

“I bet I could prove ghosts are real to you,” said Ryan. 

… where had that come from?

“Can you?”

“Oh yeah,” Ryan said, his tone fervent. “ _Totally_.”

“And how are you gonna do that?”

“I’ll get proof of a ghost,” Ryan said.

“With what?”

“... that I don’t know yet,” said Ryan, “but I’ll figure it out.”

“You do that,” said Shane, and he patted Ryan on the leg, then stood up. “I’m gonna head home. See ya tomorrow, buddy.”

“See ya,” Ryan said, and he gave Shane a little wave. 

Ryan blushed, and then he frowned. 

God, he was an awkward fucker.

He groaned, and he covered his face with both hands. 

He had to figure… something out.

He had to stop stewing like he was, he had to tell Shane, he had to… what did he have to do?

He had to tell Shane that he had feelings, so they could move in one direction or another. 

… he had to get drunk.

He’d read somewhere that people made their best decisions while drunk, and then considered them sober, and he’d made this decision while sober, so he was going to try it drunk.

And what decision was that?

He was going to tell Shane he had feelings for him, so he could stop pining like something out of an old story. 

That was what he had to do.

That was exactly what he had to do.

* * *

Shane’s mother kept bees, and Ryan’s mother grew potatoes. 

The two of them both made alcohol with it, and traded liberally. It was kept in the barn, under an eave.

Ryan drank half the bottle of mead, sitting on a hay bale, and he stared at the beams, and he brooded.

“Ghosts are real,” he told the barn. 

His parent’s mule snorted, no doubt giving her thoughts. 

“You know it,” said a voice next to him.

Ryan jumped, nearly spilling the bottle, only for it to be grabbed by a woman.

She had blond hair, brown eyes, and a slightly loopy expression.

She was wearing a white dress, with a blue men’s suit jacket over it. 

“Who are you?”

“I’ve got a lot of names,” she said, and she took a slug from the bottle - the bottle, which had changed to a different color. 

It looked pink, and when she handed it to him, he took a slug.

It tasted… it tasted different. 

It tasted like it came from a long time ago, from a place that had been dead for a very long time, but right here, it tasted like a party that was never going to end. 

“Such as…?”

Ryan made a “go on” hand motion.

He was drunk, and he was talking to a god.

How about that.

He wasn’t supposed to talk to gods - it was considered bad luck, and it could change you.

Ryan remembered comments about radioactive fallout, about leftover magic, but… fuck it. 

He took another swig, and the booze fizzed down his throat, into his belly. 

It was like sunshine, spilling into his gullet. 

If he turned into a god or a monster or an angel or who even knew what, well… it’d be better than this.

Better than being stuck in this place, doing what he’d always done, better than pining after Shane for the rest of his life as he got too old to bring in the harvest. 

He took another swig. 

“There’s a lot of them,” she said. 

“You’re not gonna tell me your name?”

“Do you have _any_ manners, kid? That’s the kind of shit that’s dangerous.”

Another big swig. 

“What kind of dangerous are we talking about?”

He was looking at her sidelong - she was beautiful, in a complicated, messy sort of way, and there was the familiar twist in his stomach, that he always got with a pretty girl. 

She was a complicated sort of pretty, but pretty nonetheless.

“You value not having your eyeballs leaking out of your head, or getting drunk on the moonlight?”

“... fair enough,” said Ryan, and he gestured for the bottle. “C’mon, share.”

“I’m a god,” she said. “Aren’t you worried about magical backwash?”

Ryan looked down at the bottle, and then he shrugged, and he took a swig.

“Are you the reason the zucchini is being so weird?”

“It’s zucchini,” she said. “It’s always likely to go weird.”

“Is that your official opinion?”

“My official divine opinion,” she said, her tone solemn. “So you’re in love.”

He blinked at her - she hadn’t changed her tone of voice.

“How would you know that?”

“I’m a god. Can’t you at least trust my divine knowledge?”

“You’re not a god of love,” said Ryan. “You said you’re a god of parties.”

“So?”

“So parties ain’t love.”

She took the bottle out of his hand, and she took a long, deep drink from it. 

The level in the bottle didn’t change, though he could see her swallowing, and he could smell the alcohol. 

It smelled like something fruity, sweet - a kind of sweetness didn’t belong in this world. 

He grabbed it, and he drank, down and down and down - it tasted like sweet, and it tasted like a party that he’d never be invited to otherwise. 

She grinned at him, and her teeth gleamed in the dim light of the moon.

Her eyes glowed like fireflies, but deeper, crazier, and it was a color he’d never seen in life.

There was something terrifying in the back of that - if he stared too long, he’d lose his mind. 

Would madness be too bad?

… no, he wasn’t going to go down that road. 

He leaned back into the hay bale, and he looked at her. 

“There’s love in ‘em,” she said. “People fall in love at ‘em. Or at bars, bars are another place that’s sacred to me. Parties, bars, places where people get drunk, places where people dance, places where people fuck….” 

“This doesn’t seem like one of those places,” said Ryan, indicating the barn.

“Well,” she said, “mister smart ass, I can sense your pining ass from a mile away, and you’ve had dancing here, and you’ve had drinking here, and you’ve had fucking. It doesn’t have to happen all at once, y’know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryan said, and he made a dismissive gesture.

“So you’re in love,” she said, and she indicated for the bottle to be handed back - when had it been in his hand?

He was losing track - his mouth tasted like flowers and like fruits that he’d never seen, like, bright lights, like old magic. 

“I guess I am,” he said.

“Are you having a freak out over being into a dude?”

“A what?”

“Y’know, the whole “how can I be into a dude,” shit like that?”

“Nah,” said Ryan, and he shrugged.

Who needed to worry about being into a man versus being into a woman, as long as everyone was human, was alive, knew how to live as a human?

“That’s good,” said the god. “Wouldn’t want to worry about that. So what’s the problem?”

“He’s… he’s Shane,” Ryan said. “He’s my best friend, he lives next to me, and he seems….”

“Seems…?”

She made a hand gesture - a keep going, or possible “pass the bottle back.”

“He seems happy here,” Ryan said, after a few minutes thought. 

He was spinning at this point - _everything_ was spinning, and his stomach was churning like a river. 

“And you’re not?”

“I’m not… not happy,” said Ryan. “But I want to do otherwise. To see other things.”

“Right,” she said.

“And if I go out looking for things, it’ll be leaving Shane behind, and if I leave Shane behind… what am I going to do?”

“Make a choice,” she said.

“Aren’t you supposed to give me special godly advice?”

“That _is_ my special godly advice,” she said. “Consider this your chance to make a choice.”

And then she kissed him on the forehead - a full on, loud, smacking kiss, the kind of kiss that his parents bestowed on him, when he was small. 

It was like drinking.

It was like the time he’d drunk too much, when he was nineteen, and he and Shane had gotten so drunk that they’d sworn off of booze for three years. 

His stomach heaved, his head throbbed, his eyes were spinning….

He passed out onto the hay, as a music that throbbed like a migraine pounded through his whole body. 

* * *

Ryan woke up to a pounding headache, with Shane looking down at him. 

“Dude,” said Shane, “the fuck did you do?”

“Shane,” said Ryan, and he sat up.

Or at least, he tried to.

What he actually did was get halfway there, then bend over and throw up, all over his own lap.

There were flowers mixed in with the vomit, and it smelled like things that were not of this world.

It _also_ smelled of stomach acid and what Ryan had been eating, but none of that was important. 

“Dude,” said Shane, and he made a sympathetic noise. “What did you do last night?”

“Shane,” said Ryan, “want to go out with me?”

… that was, once again, not what he’d meant to say.

He didn’t know what he’d meant to say. 

And yet. 

“Go out with you?”

“Yeah,” said Ryan. “Let’s go out. Let’s leave. Go traveling, maybe see the ocean, see… see the places where there’s glass footprints, or the field full of flowers with the eyes, maybe… maybe the dead metal beasts?” 

“Where’d this come from?”

Shane helped Ryan up, and Ryan leaned against him, his head still throbbing like a broken tooth, his eyes sliding shut.

“I’m sorry,” said Ryan. “I got drunk last night.” 

“Evidently,” said Shane, his tone dry. “You need help with a bath?”

Ryan stared into Shane’s eyes, and he licked his lips, which tasted entirely too much like bile.

“Probably,” said Ryan. “So do you want to go places with me?”

“What would we be doing in these places?”

The press of their hands, skin on skin, was enough to make Ryan dizzy all over again. 

He wanted to kiss Shane. 

That was a bad idea, when his mouth tasted like this, but… still. 

He also probably should have asked Shane first, since that was the way he’d been taught, but… well.

Well.

Ryan licked his lips. 

“Finding things,” said Ryan. “Discovering things. 

“What kinds of things?”

“Ghosts,” said Ryan. “And… and other stuff.”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” said Shane, making a face. 

“Let me prove it to you,” said Ryan.

“... okay,” said Shane. “Sure. Why not?”

“I’m offering to go wandering the world, and you just say “sure, why not?”” 

Ryan wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or endeared.

… wow, but he had some kind of feelings. 

Um. 

“Really?”

“Really really,” said Shane, and he grinned at Ryan, his expression fond.

His hand went to Ryan’s, and Ryan sighed, as their fingers interlaced.

Huh.

Maybe… maybe things weren’t exactly the way he thought they were.

“So where do you want to go first?”

Shane’s tone was calm, and he wrapped an arm around Ryan’s shoulders.

Ryan leaned into it, and he sighed. 

“The ocean,” Shane said. “The ocean, and then we can go from there.”

“And you’re gonna prove that there’s ghosts?”

“I’m gonna prove that there’s ghosts.”

Out of the corner of Ryan’s eye, something flickered. 

It was a ghostly, pearly sort of movement, and he could see it moving. 

It was moving across his barn, and if he turned to look at it, he was going to possibly scream.

Welp. 

“Ghosts are real,” Ryan said, and he meant it.

“They’re not,” Shane said, as some kind of ghost walked across Ryan’s barn again. 

“They are,” said Ryan, “but let’s worry about that later.” 

“What are we going to worry about now?”

“I’m sure I’ll find something,” said Ryan, and he rubbed his hands together, and made to stand up.

Shane kept his arm around him, and squeezed.

Ryan leaned into it, and he sighed, his eyes sliding shut.

He could see the ghosts behind his eyes, but… he could worry about that later. 

Right now, the world he lived in now was the one where Shane was holding him, and that was what he was going to concentrate on.


End file.
